She rounded the Rock and saw the house that was, these days, her second home. Set on the corner, it was unmissable on the block – a four-storeyed, stocky building with cantilevered Crittall bay windows running down a central column, the dark, time-blackened bricks offset by the bright verdigris of the copper mansard roof and downpipes. A high garden wall obscured the surprisingly leafy and pretty courtyard within; Oddjob, the family’s tabby cat, was sitting on top and surveying his kingdom. As she drew closer, she saw the gate set within the garden wall begin to open. She wasn’t the only one behind time today, then? An electric scooter was swung through, followed by a bespectacled man in a mid-thigh navy pea coat, a Missoni striped scarf at his neck and a brown satchel worn across his body, his lightly salted dark hair largely obscured by a ribbed beanie.

‘Hi, Max,’ she panted, her brakes squeaking slightly as she lifted over her left leg and came to a stop standing on the pedal.

‘Morning, Bell,’ he said, holding the gate open for her, and she dipped through with brisk, practised efficiency, as though this were a dance.

‘How’s it going in there today?’ she asked, propping the bike up against the garden wall and pulling off her pom-pom hat; her long dark hair immediately stood with static.

He shook his head with a roll of his eyes. ‘It’s a madhouse. I’m escaping with my sanity while I still can.’

She laughed. ‘That explains why I like it here, then. I lost mine years ago,’ she grinned, running up the back steps and opening the fully glazed back door. The ground floor of the house stood a couple of metres off the ground, to allow light into the sub-basement below.

‘Morning, everyone,’ she said cheerily, walking into the kitchen and twisting up her hair into a topknot with a band she kept on her wrist. Her eyes automatically scanned the dirty breakfast dishes in the sink, the orange juice getting warm on the island; without thought, she returned it to the fridge.

‘Oh Bell, thank heavens you’re here. I’ve got to dash. A client’s just booked an emergency appointment and they’re waiting for me.’ If Hanna’s voice suggested urgency, her movements didn’t as she shrugged on a berry-coloured coat that looked sensational against her pale blonde hair and double-checked her appearance in the mirror. As ever, her discreet make-up was expertly applied, not a hair out of place. In the three years she’d been working for the Mogert family, Bell had never seen her look anything less than flawless. Her kitchen, on the other hand . . .

Feeling a tug at her ankles, Bell looked down to find Elise, the older of the twins by nine minutes, tugging her tucked-in trousers out of her socks with a disapproving pout. Even at the tender age of three and three quarters, she had her mother’s innate sense of style.

‘Thanks, Elise,’ she smiled. ‘That’s saved me a job. Now, have you brushed your teeth and washed your face?’